


Hurry Down the Chimney Tonight

by mrsbonniemellark



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, F/M, age gap, santa!peeta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-09-01 16:08:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16768444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrsbonniemellark/pseuds/mrsbonniemellark
Summary: One Christmas, Katniss wakes to find Santa, aka Peeta, leaving presents under her tree. And every year after that she waits up for him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ok this is the Santa!Peeta fic I've been posting on my tumblr (safeinpeetasarms). Don't know when or if this fic will be updated but enjoy lol

**December 25th, 1am (age 12)**

Our empty stockings line the mantle. I put my father’s there beside ours because I couldn’t bear not to. I gave my heaviest blanket to Prim, whose tiny body couldn’t suppress her shivering in her sleep. I don’t mind though, it’s warmer before the fire anyway.

The flames dance and crackle, and I watch them, hypnotized. I jerk awake hours later, not realizing I’d fallen asleep.

A man in a red suit stands in our living room, pulling neatly wrapped presents out of a large bag and placing them under our Christmas tree.

“Santa Claus?” I whisper. I’d always wondered how my family had afforded presents every year, but I’d never considered—

“Shit,” he whispers, turning to face me. I’m shocked to find his face free of the long white beard he’s always pictured with. In fact, he appears rather… _young_. “Go back to sleep.”

“I-I’m sorry we don’t have any cookies for you,” I say. We barely have enough food to scrape by, we certainly can’t be giving strangers cookies. That’s what I told my mother and Prim when they asked when we were going to make cookies for Santa, but seeing him here now…It seems rather rude to take so many things from him and give him nothing in return.

“Don’t worry about it,” he laughs. “I’ll be eating plenty of cookies tonight.” He finishes placing the presents around the tree and moves to the fireplace to fill our stockings. I hurry to the kitchen, grabbing a piece of fruit from the fridge as quietly as I can. I make sure to keep him in sight at all times, which isn’t hard to do in our small apartment as a low countertop is all that separates the living room from the kitchen. As an afterthought, I pour a glass of milk for him too.

“Here,” I say, holding them out to him, “just in case you want something other than a cookie.”

“Oh Katniss, it’s ok.” My eyes widen at the use of my name, but this _is_ Santa after all. “You don’t have to give me anything.”

“Shut up and take the pear,” I snap. He raises his eyebrows at me, but sets his bag down and takes the pear dutifully.

As he chews on his first bite of pear, I blurt out “Why aren't you old?” 

He makes a sound that I think might be a laugh but it's quickly lost in a cough as he chokes. I hand him the glass of milk and he drinks it down in large swallows. He hands me the empty glass and I set it on the coffee table a few feet away. 

His whole face is red, but he looks me in the eye when he says, “Not expecting Santa Claus to be an eighteen-year-old guy?” He laughs. “This is actually my first day on the job. My father just retired, so now it is up to me.” 

“He _retired?_ You can do that?” I say. He nods and takes another bite of pear. “So who are you when you’re not Santa? What’s your name?”

“Peeta. And I’m afraid the rest is supposed to be a secret,” he says with a wink. “Thank you for the pear. I really have to get going.” He turns toward the fireplace and I startle, remembering, of course, that he wouldn’t be leaving through the front door. 

“Of course,” I say. “See you next year. And thank you for the presents.”

“You’re welcome, Katniss. And merry Christmas.” And with that he disappears up the chimney. 

“Merry Christmas, Peeta,” I whisper to the empty room.

The next morning, I find a warm blanket amongst my presents and blush at the thought that Peeta had noticed I was going without, but am overcome with the thoughtfulness of the gift. And it turns out to be only the beginning of Peeta’s kindness. He left Prim a new coat, along with several sweaters and new boots. For my mother, more medical supplies in a shiny new case. And food! Oh, the food. Crackers and cheeses, jams and nut butters, fine flour and sugar. All wrapped in shiny red and green paper and tied up with bows. 

Tears fill my eyes. How did he know what to give us? Because of him, we’ll be able to fill our bellies tonight. My mother won’t have to turn down jobs for lack of supplies and Prim will have warm clothes that fit her this winter. And I…I’ll be able to sleep warmly again with my nice new blanket and be able to complete my assignments again with the school supplies he gave me.

Somehow, I’ll find a way to thank him.

**December 25th, 2am (Age 13)**

I lie in front of the fireplace again, but this time it’s not for the warmth of the fire. I don’t want to miss Peeta.

I’m not sure how the magic works. Santa is supposed to know when you’re sleeping and when you’re awake, but surely Peeta won’t mind coming down our chimney when I’m the only one awake?

I get my answer as Peeta nearly trips over me a moment later. 

“Peeta!” I cry out, scrambling to my feet. “I was afraid I was going to miss you.”

“Well, I’m here,” he smiles. The twinkling lights dance on his blond hair that peeks out of his red stocking cap. He’s beautiful, I realize. “Merry Christmas, Katniss.”

He starts laying presents underneath the tree and I stare at him in shock, still not quite believing that he’s here. 

“I left you milk and cookies this year,” I say. “And a pear, if you prefer.” 

He looks up at me and smiles. “Thank you, Katniss.”

“And um… I have something else for you too,” I say, digging in my pocket. “I wrote you a letter. To...to thank you for our presents from last year.” I hold out the envelope to him. “I wrote it a while back, I just didn’t know where to send it…” 

“Katniss...you didn’t have to do that,” he says, taking the envelope from me. He looks at me with his big blue eyes full of sadness.

“Yes, I did!” I say. “What you did...what you gave us...No one’s ever done anything like that for us before and you didn’t have to--”

“I’m Santa Claus,” Peeta interrupts. “It’s kind of the job.”

“But it’s not!” I say. “When your dad was Santa, we didn’t get gifts so personal, so...so _necessary_.” I’m pulling quotes from my letter at this point, but I know I explained it better in writing. How much of a difference it made to receive those gifts, how hard things had been that year, just after my dad died. I know that whatever I can’t express to him now will come through when he reads it.

“Well, now that _I’m_ Santa, things are going to be a little different from now on,” he says, laughing but his eyes are serious.

“I...thank you,” I say and I cross the distance between us in two quick steps and wrap my arms around him. 

“You’re welcome, Katniss,” he says, and his arms come up to return my embrace. I bury my face in the red velvet of his jacket and breathe him in. The scent of sugar cookies and the cold night air fills my lungs, along with something I can’t name but must be all his own. 

Peeta clears his throat. “I should really be going now. I have a lot of houses to get to tonight.” 

“Right,” I say, and release him, stepping back. “See you next year?” 

“See you next year, Katniss,” Peeta says. He pockets the pear I left for him, swings his bag of gifts over his shoulder, and disappears up the chimney.


	2. Chapter 2

**December 25th (age 14), 1am**

I wonder what Peeta will get me for Christmas this year. Last year, he gave me leather conditioner for my aging jacket that used to be my father’s along with new leather boots that don’t pinch my toes. And oh, I hope he’ll bring me more of those cheese buns from last year that were somehow still warm when I opened the box. 

I’m making some hot cocoa on the stove--a rare luxury, but at the moment I need both the heat and the sugar--when I hear footsteps in the living room.

Without turning around, I say, “Prim?”

“No,” I hear instead, a male voice. I spin around and see Peeta, his bag of toys slung over one shoulder and a new, full beard on his face. 

“Peeta! You--you grew a beard!” I say. He looks more like Santa now; at least, as one would imagine a young Santa. The bare-faced eighteen year old boy I first met has now been replaced with a twenty year old bearded man. The contrast is startling, though, not entirely unwelcome.

“I did,” he laughs. “My college roommate and I did No Shave November this year. I thought I might as well keep it until after Christmas.”

“You’re in college?” My mind thrills at this piece of information. “Which school do you go to?”

“Shit. No. No more secrets,” Peeta laughs. He sets his bag down by our Christmas tree, all lit up in red and green lights, and starts artfully arranging presents underneath it.

“What’s your major?” I say, unwilling to give up just yet.

“Well…” he turns to me, biting his lip in thought. “I guess that wouldn’t give away too much. I’m a political science major.” He lays a thick envelope marked Katniss on top of a stack of presents and my curiosity is piqued but I won’t be deterred. 

“Santa for president?” I joke.

Peeta laughs. “Imagine that campaign though!” 

“Well, you’ve got my vote,” I say. I’m laughing now, and I can’t remember the last person I laughed with aside from Prim. 

“That’s only because I give you free stuff,” Peeta says. He sets one last present under the tree and stands up, heading over to the little table with milk, cookies, and--of course--a pear.

“That’s not the only reason,” I whisper. 

He pockets the pear and a couple cookies, draining the glass of milk in three gulps. “Gotta take these for the road,” he says.

He comes over to me and gives me a quick hug, “Merry Christmas, Katniss.” And then he’s gone again.

Despite my curiosity, I’m determined not to open the presents he left for me until the morning, but surely it wouldn’t be wrong to open his letter. I rip open the envelope hastily, narrowly avoiding giving myself a papercut in the process. 

I pore over the pages slowly, absorbing every word he wrote for me. It seems in response to my letter from last year, where I opened up about how much it meant to receive his gifts, he has shared with me what it is truly like to be Santa Claus, and how much it means to him to be able to help people and spread joy throughout the land. When he says that I’m the only person outside of his family who knows he’s Santa Claus, my heart warms, though of course it wasn’t his choice to share the information with me, and I still don’t know his true identity. He jokes that I should probably burn the letter after reading it, but no one who found it would think it was a serious letter, merely a work of fiction, so there is no problem in my keeping it. I will treasure it forever.

And the next morning, I find new warm pajamas that don’t end a foot above my ankles, the expensive graphing calculator I need for my math class this year, and the cheese buns from last year, somehow still warm. Tears fill my eyes, as they do every year now opening his gifts, and I start drafting another letter to him.

**December 25th (age 15), 3am**

I can’t keep my eyes open. I’m far too comfortable, snuggled up with my warm blanket on the couch. Peeta’s usually here by now. I take a sip of my hot chocolate and set it on the coffee table with a sigh. When I look back up at the fireplace, he’s here. 

“Peeta!” I cry out, running over to him for a hug. “Merry Christmas!” He hugs me back immediately, dropping his bag of toys on the floor and lifting me off my feet for a moment before releasing me.

“Merry Christmas, Katniss!” Peeta says with a smile. “How’ve you been?” 

“Good. I-I’ve been good,” I say, suddenly nervous. “What about you? You--you don’t have a beard.” 

He laughs, rubbing his bare face. “No. Not this year. I’m a senior now, so I have to look a little more professional.” 

“For what?” I say, confused.

“I’ve accepted a job at an accounting firm for after I finish school…” Peeta shrugs. “It wasn’t my first career choice, but I made good money at my internship with them over the summer so when they offered me the job, I said yes. There are dinners and events I have to go to throughout the year, so I have to have a clean-shaven face and wear a suit.”

“What was your first career choice?” I ask. 

“I want to help people. I wanted to go into politics, be a social worker, be a teacher, anything that can help make a difference to real people. But this seems like a good option for now at least,” Peeta sighs. I’ve never heard him sound so...lost before. He always seemed so self-assured before. “What about you? Do you know what you want to be?”

“I want to help people too,” I say. “People like my family who live paycheck-to-paycheck…” 

“Oh Katniss,” Peeta says, putting a hand on my shoulder reassuringly. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” I say, not meeting his eyes. “My mom’s a nurse at a local hospital, and they don’t pay her what they should.” She got the job several months after my dad died, after that first hard winter trying to live on the money from his life insurance and what little my mom could get from the people in town who were sick but couldn’t afford to go to the doctor. It changed our lives for the better, but we were still struggling. 

Peeta sighs. “People working full time shouldn’t have to struggle to live. And especially our nurses and teachers, who have to attend several years of school in order to do their jobs and don’t receive the kind of pay that other jobs that require the same amount of training do.”

“See? This is why you’d have my vote if you ran for office,” I laugh.

Peeta laughs too. “Well, thank you. That means a lot.” He picks up his bag of toys again and heads over to the tree. His presents this year are covered in silver and green wrapping paper with shimmering snowflakes and he sets them under the tree in towering pyramids. 

The silence grows and I can only think that I’m wasting my precious time with him. “Peeta? Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah?” Peeta looks up.

“What--” I pause. I didn’t actually have a question in mind, it was just an excuse to get us talking again. But...there is something I’ve been wondering about. “What does your sleigh look like?”

“Do you want to see it?”

The first thing I notice is the reindeer. They’re bigger than I expected, taller than horses even, with large antlers, and intelligent eyes. Peeta’s takes carrots out of his pocket for them and hands one to me. I feed the carrot to the reindeer closest to me, its head bending down to gobble it out of my hand. “What’s his name?” I ask.

“That one’s Dasher,” he says.

“Hi, Dasher,” I say to the reindeer, petting him gently. Peeta introduces me to the other reindeer as well: Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner, and Blitzen. He didn’t name them, he explains, they’re intelligent creatures who live up north during the year and come collect him every Christmas Eve. 

“And where do you live?” I ask, but Peeta only laughs.

When we finally reach the sleigh itself, I gasp. It’s navy blue and black, covered in stars. I recognize the milky way galaxy and the constellation Orion. It sits so serenely on the roof of our apartment building, as if it was part of the sky itself. “You painted the night sky,” I whisper. “How did you capture it so exactly?” 

“I spent a lot of hours mixing paints and experimenting,” he says shyly. “But I needed the camouflage.” 

“You’re a painter,” I say. It’s not a question, but I’m surprised. I never knew this about him before. “Have you ever thought about doing this professionally?”

“Not really,” Peeta shrugs. “I mostly do it for me. It can be...therapeutic.” 

I nod. “Whenever I can I take my dad’s bow and arrow to the woods to practice my archery,” I say. “It can be...therapeutic for me too.” 

Peeta nods, grateful. 

“Do you have to go now?” I ask before I can stop myself. Peeta nods again. 

“But I’ll see you next year, Katniss,” he says. He takes my hand and with a swish, we’re back down the chimney and in my apartment. I quickly hand him the letter I’d stashed in my pocket for him.

“Merry Christmas, Peeta,” I say. And just like that, he’s gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas, everyone!!! Come follow me on tumblr! I'm safeinpeetasarms :)


End file.
